


Final Project

by dragonimp



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-12
Updated: 2010-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-16 03:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3472247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roy's been assigned to work with the class' resident temperamental prodigy, Ed - and Ed is not happy about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Technology and Engineering Fair had a good turnout overall this year—but the undeniable champion was the booth for Rockbell Automail.

The small prosthetics shop had a well-deserved reputation and had made quite a name for itself even outside of automail circles. The booth was currently being staffed by Winry Rockbell, a very personable and charming young lady, so it was no surprise that it was well visited. But the majority of the crowd, it seemed to Roy, had less to do with the booth itself and more to do with the two young men on the makeshift stage behind it.

The chemistry major found a planter far enough away to be out of the crowd but still near enough to see and settled down on the edge to watch. He had to hand it to whoever had come up with the idea; the two-man concert both drew attention and nicely showcased just what a Rockbell limb was capable of. Roy hadn't known it was possible to play guitar so well with metal fingers.

The automail, though, was not what was keeping his attention. The limbs were impressive, of course. The younger boy was executing a complicated bass line with not one, but two metal arms, easily keeping up with the melody provided by his older brother. Said older brother was strumming and picking with his flesh-and-blood left hand, while his automail fingers flew through a dizzying series of chord changes.

But it was the boy himself that had Roy's focus.

A gold ponytail swayed and jumped behind him as he moved with the music. He was throwing himself into the performance with a playful exuberance, evident in the grin he couldn't keep off of his face. He was feeding off of the ever-changing crowd, but it was obvious that the music itself was his passion. Roy hadn't known that the Elrics, the university's much-lauded genius brothers, had a talent for music, but he shouldn't be surprised. They seemed to excel at just about everything they applied themselves to, both academic and physical.

But for him, it was just one more item to add to the long list of Things That Make Ed Elric Fuckable.

The boy was just turned sixteen, but Roy had given up on feeling guilty about being attracted to someone so much younger some time ago. After weeks of debating and outright arguing with the prodigy both in and outside of their classes—often to their teachers' displeasure—he was hard pressed to see the youth as anything other than a peer and equal.

The roots of his physical attraction could be blamed on one evening of watching him compete in a wrestling match. Now where most people saw a boy genius, all Roy could see was a delicious piece of man-flesh.

The brothers had finished up their set and were setting their guitars on the nearby stands. Roy watched with great interest as Ed wiped the sweat off his face with the hem of his shirt, inadvertently providing the crowd with a teasing glimpse of his abdomen. Judging by the girlish squeals, Roy wasn't the only one who wanted to trace those ridges and planes—preferably with his tongue. The blond boy seemed all but oblivious, though, as he tossed off a wave to his brother and his friend and announced he was going to grab some food.

Roy hopped off his perch and hurried after. Lust aside, he did have a legitimate reason to stalking his prey at the moment.

He caught up just as they broke out of the crowd from the fair, and on impulse he reached out and snagged the trailing end of that tantalizing golden tail.

Ed whipped around fist first, and Roy jumped back to avoid getting back-handed by metal. "Get off of—what the fuck do _you_ want?"

"Nice to see you, too Ed," the older man replied with a smirk. "We missed you in Mister Tucker's class this morning."

Ed rolled his eyes, turning to make his way across the lawn. "What are you, the attendance police? Tucker cleared me for this last week."

Roy fell into step beside him, much to the blond's displeasure. "That may be, but Tucker assigned the teams for the final project today. I'm sure you'll want to know who you're working with; this counts for a third of our grade, after all."

The youth snorted. "Like it matters, I'll just end up doing the whole thing like usual. . . ." He drifted off and came to a stop in the middle of the lawn, slowly turning to glare. "No. Absolutely _not_."

"No, what?" Roy asked with feigned ignorance.

" _No_ , I am _not_ working with _you_." He jabbed a finger at the taller man's chest. "Absolutely _not_."

He shrugged. "Sorry Ed, but the teams have been assigned. You could try taking it up with Mister Tucker, but I'm not sure you'd find anyone willing to switch." What he didn't say was that no one else was particularly keen on the idea of working with the teenager. Ed was easily the smartest one in the class, but he was also caustic and short-tempered. More often than not, he intimidated the other students. Roy, on the other hand, found the challenge appealing.

Ed shoved his hands through his bangs with a growl of frustration. "Fuck! Fuck Tucker and _fuck you_!"

_Any way you like_ , was what Roy _didn't_ say. "We don't have much time to get this done, so we'll want to start on it right away. Shall we meet at the library this Saturday?"

"Everyone's gonna be at the fucking library," he grumbled. He seemed to debate something for a moment, before folding his mismatched arms and scowling. "I've already got all the books we'll need at home," he mumbled to the air just to Roy's left. "Y'might as well come there."

"Sounds perfect. Eleven o'clock?"

"Whatever."

"This does mean you'll have to tell me where you live."

With a loud sigh, Ed did so, before stomping off to the food court.

Roy smirked to himself as he headed for his next class. If he played this right, it may turn out very well indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

"I _swear_ that idiot Tucker has it in for me." Ed yanked a book off the shelf and added it to the growing pile on the floor. "Partnering me with _Roy Mustang_ of all people. _Anyone_ would've been better. Anyone!" He punctuated this with another book. "And to make it worse that asshole is coming _here_."

"Well, you did invite him," Al pointed out from the kitchen.

Ed ignored this bit of logic. "Biggest fucking jerk in the whole school. Arrogant, smirking jackass—makes me want to punch his face in."

"Brother, I wish you wouldn't be so violent," Al chided, poking his head around the door. "Roy's perfectly nice once you get to know him."

"He's a manipulative, arrogant playboy!" What he didn't want to admit was that the anger kept him from reacting some _other_ way—and making a fool of himself in front of East City University's biggest player. Sometimes it seemed like the guy was flirting with him, but then he'd always pull back, as if Ed wasn't worth his time. It was maddening. No one _else_ got the hot-and-cold treatment.

"Well, yeah, but he's still a nice guy."

Ed rolled his eyes, dropping another book onto the pile. "Only you, Al. You could make friends with _anyone_." He couldn't imagine Mustang being _nice_ —that way led to treacherous waters.

"You'd make more friends, too, if you weren't such an ass to everyone."

" _Hey_!"

The younger brother had retreated back to the kitchen. "Honestly, Brother, you need to lighten up at school. It's not a competition."

"Yes it is, the entire educational system is set up as a competition."

"Well, it hardly applies to _you_." Al stopped by the door to the living room again. "I'll be at Fletcher's until late, so try not to destroy anything."

"Yeah, yeah—hey, how are your arms holding up? You really worked them the other day—"

"Not any more than you did," the boy answered with a tolerant smile. He held up one of his metal hands and wiggled the fingers. "I'm fine, Brother. Winry's latest improvements have really made a difference."

Ed smiled. "Yeah, they have."

After his brother left, Ed dropped himself to the floor, idly flexing his automail hand. To the outside observer automail seemed tireless, and in some ways it was; gears and motors didn't feel fatigue the same way muscles did. It was the neural connection that felt the strain. It wasn't heavy lifting but the fine, intricate movements that were the problem. Overtax it and the limb might get sluggish, or even stop responding.

"You'll be able to play again," Winry had promised them, five years ago. "For as long as you want. I swear it!"

Ed leaned over and grabbed the guitar that always sat in the living room, smiling as he curled his automail around the wide, familiar neck. It had taken her several years and many long nights, but she had done it. He and Al couldn't even begin to tell her how grateful they were.

* * *

"Don't give me grief, Maes. He's legal."

"Barely."

"'Barely' is enough to hold up in court," Roy shot back, scowling as the light in front of him turned red.

"You know that's not what I'm getting at."

He wondered if his phone's earpiece could pick up his teeth grinding. "I haven't pulled that kind of shit since high school. When are you going to give me a break?"

"When you stop skirting the line," his friend said, calmly. "You come close, Roy. I don't think you even see how close you come."

"Just when have I—" He cut himself off. The other man could probably give him date and time. "This isn't like that."

"No?"

" _No_ ," he ground out, starting forward again when the light turned.

"Just make sure you don't do anything you'll hate yourself for later." The sigh was clear even over the cellular connection. "When are you going to stop these blasted games and actually _settle down_ with someone?"

" _Goodbye_ , Maes."

"I'm telling you, Roy, once you find someone and start a family, you'll wonder why you took so long—"

Pressing the "off" button wasn't quite as satisfying as slamming down a receiver, but it did have the same effect.

He tossed the earpiece onto the passenger's seat, and used the last several blocks to clear his head. Despite what his friend might think ( _with good reason_ , a small voice added), this wasn't just about getting into Ed's pants. That was a big part of it, sure, what fool wouldn't want a piece of that? But it was _Ed himself_ , the entire volatile, brilliant, intriguing package, that had Roy so preoccupied.

But to get past the boy's defenses, Roy wasn't above using a few tricks.

It turned out the Elrics lived with the Rockbells, behind the automail shop. Roy spared the shop a curious glance as he walked by, intrigued by the sound of metal being machined. The construction and operation of the prosthetic limbs were complete mysteries to him.

As he stepped onto the porch of the house the machining suddenly stopped, and he became aware of another, softer sound, coming from in front of him. He listened for a moment to the gentle acoustic guitar, marveling at the contrast between it and the music the brothers had played at the Tech Fair, before reaching for the doorbell.

The music cut off, and a moment or two later he heard footsteps. The door was yanked open about a foot, and Ed glared around it.

Roy gave him his best charming smile. "Good morning, Edward. Shall we get started?"

Ed rolled his eyes and turned away, leaving the other man to open the door the rest of the way himself. "Ass," the boy muttered. "The books and shit are in the living room."

Roy glanced around as Ed made his way to the kitchen, his bare feet alternating click-step-click-step against the hardwood floor. The Rockbell house wasn't large and was rather cluttered, but it had a cosy, inviting feel to it. He moved a pile of newspapers to one side and took a seat on the couch.

On the floor in front of the bookcase was a pile of texts that Ed had evidently set aside. Roy picked up one of the top ones, and made an appreciative noise when he saw the title; it was a controversial theoretical work from thirty years ago, and not easy to find.

"You get any grease on those books and you're dead," Ed greeted him as he entered the room. He dropped an open bag of chips onto the coffee table and plopped himself down onto the floor by the pile.

"I'll consider myself warned. Where did you come across this?" he asked, lifting the book in his hands.

The blond shrugged. "It was my dad's. Most of these were his. Look, I've got something in mind for this project, all right?"

Roy raised an eyebrow at the abrasive tone. "Let's hear it, then."

Their assignment was to pick a subject or two, analyze the trends of history, and predict some of the paths that science might take, complete with the potential impact on society. Roy was expecting to see a lot of wild guesses that would resemble science fiction more than science fact.

Ed's take on it, though, would be more of a cautionary tale.

"Interesting. So what drew you to that angle?"

The young man shrugged, studying the stack of books. "Just—seemed like something different."

"I see." Very intriguing. "Let's get started, then."

Several hours later, Roy reflected that Maes really needn't have worried so much. Once they got started, he forgot everything else. Any ploys he may have concocted to seduce the young man fell by the wayside, dropped in favor of the science they were discussing. The perspective Ed presented would have piqued his interest on its own, but with Ed laying out theories and making connections that Roy had never before noticed, the project became fascinating. Probably twice as hard as it would have been otherwise, but he hardly cared.

Then there was Ed himself. Away from the competitive environment of the school and the constant pressure to prove himself and his status as a prodigy, the youth relaxed, and became almost amiable. They spent most of the time arguing, but it was companionable, rather than the sessions of one-upmanship they usually had in class. It was invigorating.

And Roy was completely enthralled.

They finally lifted their heads out of their work when Ed's stomach let out a loud growl. He grinned sheepishly. "I guess it's lunch time."

Roy glanced at the clock on the mantle. "I think we missed lunch."

"Early dinner, then." He unburied his legs from the piles of notes and rose into a stretch, seemingly unaware of the way the older man's eyes were drawn to that graceful arch. "Al left us some chicken salad, we can make sandwiches."

"Sounds good," he replied, grateful that his voice still sounded normal after witnessing that display. He climbed to his feet, trying to work the kinks out of his back after hours of sitting on the floor, and followed.

Ed's hair was braided today, and it whispered against his collar as he walked. Roy had a sudden urge to run his hand along the thick rope, to see if it really was as soft as it looked. But he balled his hands and kept them at his sides, unwilling to risk whatever camaraderie they'd built today. "By the way, where is your brother?" he said instead.

"At a friend's house. They're working on some sort of greenhouse project or something, I dunno." He pulled a large bowl out of the refrigerator and started hunting for some bread.

"The one at the JC? I just read an article about that. I didn't know Al was involved."

"Yeah, he was giving them a hand with the structure, and now he's getting into the horticulture. You should see some of his notes. . . ."

He went on to relate some of Al's theories on planting cycles, sustainable farming, green fertilizer, and other things. It was interesting, but what enchanted Roy the most was the way Ed's face lit up when he talked about his brother. He added this to the growing catalog of All Things Ed, which was swiftly overtaking the Fuckable List in length.

He wasn't sure he wanted to think about what that meant.

They finished their sandwiches and returned to the living room, having gotten off on a tangent of chemical verses organic fertilizers. It was a topic neither of them particularly cared about, but they were having too much fun arguing to let it go.

Ed shot him a look as they settled back down among their notes, then turned aside, suddenly taking a great interest in a nearby text. The expression had been there and gone in an instant, but Roy could've sworn he'd seen a shy sort of uncertainty—something he'd never have thought would cross the blond boy's face.

"By the way," he said into the suddenly awkward silence, "was that you I heard playing when I got here?" He nodded to the guitar tucked into the corner, between two bookshelves.

"Oh, yeah. I was practicing. It was just something I've been working on, kinda off an on, for a while now."

"Something you wrote?"

"Yeah." A small smile and a flush of pride accompanied the admission. It was quite different from the arrogance the youth usually displayed at school.

"I don't suppose I could I hear it? It . . . sounded nice." Inwardly Roy cringed at how lame that had come out. Just how did one talk about music without getting flowery?

Ed shrugged and reached over for the guitar, settling it against his folded legs. "Sorry if it sounds off, this guitar isn't really the best," he explained, running his left hand over the mahogany wood. "I just keep it to practice on." Judging by the way his fingers lingered on a worn patch just above the sound hole, Roy suspected that there was more to it than that.

His automail clicked faintly as he settled his fingers into a cord. He plucked a couple of the strings, lightly, as if testing them, then strummed.

Ed's self-consciousness seemed to melt away as soon as he started playing. His face relaxed, and took on a faraway expression as he started up a pattern of picking, and he soon became lost to the song. The melody was gentle, almost like a lullaby but darker in tone, and Roy found himself drifting with the music. Then, Ed started to sing.

For a moment, Roy forgot to breathe. Ed had a rough-edged tenor; not a classical singing voice, but strong and carrying so much emotion that Roy's heart clenched. The words were secondary. The part of his brain that managed to be objective was appreciating the lyrics, but the singing itself was what carried the meaning. It spoke of loss, pain. Determination.

All too soon, the singing ended, and the last chord trailed off, the strings vibrating softly before being silenced by the flat of a hand. Ed seemed to come back to himself then, glancing up briefly before dropping his eyes and abruptly turning to place the guitar on its stand.

"That's, um, what I have right now. It still needs to be refined."

"Ed, that was. . . ." Roy groped for something appropriate to say. "Good" seemed so inadequate. "That was amazing."

Ed fixed him with a sharp look. He was probably trying to figure out if he was being teased, but for once Roy wasn't playing games. He reached out and took the metal hand in his own, marveling over the intricate joints that let him produce something so breathtaking. Ed looked startled, but didn't pull away. "The song was . . . beautiful. And your playing . . . frankly, I'm blown away."

". . . Thanks." The fingers curled around his for a moment, as the young man seemed to consider something.

A slight tensing of the compact body in front of him was all the warning Roy had before he was knocked over backwards, pinned to the floor with Ed's hands on his shoulders and his knees against his sides.

"You better not be fucking with me. This better not be some—some _ploy_ or game to get into my pants for some love-em-and-leave-em fling—"

"Some _what_ —" He reeled at the sudden shift in both mood and position.

Ed rolled his eyes. "You're the biggest slut in the whole school. Different date every other night. Let me guess, there's some check list, right? A points system? Do you get more of a bonus the younger they are?"

Roy snatched the fringe hanging down on either side of the young man's face, forcing their eyes to meet. "There most certainly. Is. _Not_."

Ed scowled down at him, his startlingly gold eyes narrowing.

"Look. I know my reputation. I can't say it's not deserved. But I don't _use_ people. If I have a one-night stand it's because _both_ of us wanted it that way." He made sure of that—now. Despite what others, including his best friend, might think, he had sworn he would never hurt someone like that again. "Ed—I've been waiting all term to be able to touch you without getting thrown into jail, do you have any idea what a challenge that's been? Now that I finally _can_ touch you," he drew him down, until they were almost nose to nose, "I have _no_ plans to stop. Any. Time. Soon. Understand me?"

Ed stared at him, his mouth working as he digested this. Roy could hardly blame him for being skeptical. Maybe ten years ago his misgivings would've been justified. There was no denying that Roy still liked his flings, but nowadays he made sure they were understood as flings from the beginning. He did have some morals.

After a long moment, Ed scoffed. "That's got to be the first _clear_ signal you've given me all term." Then kissed him.


	3. Extra Credit

Roy slid his hands back, lacing his fingers together in the thick hair. "I'll try to be a little more obvious from now on," he murmured against the hot mouth. "But, um," he squirmed, using his elbow to nudge a book out from under his side, "do you think we could move somewhere a little more comfortable?"

He could feel Ed grin against his jaw. "Maybe." He nipped his chin. "Or maybe I'll keep you here, as payback for being such an _ass_ to me all term."

" _My_ ass would be much more receptive if it wasn't lying on top of two-inch-thick texts." He tilted his head back as Ed moved down his neck. "You do realize that if you keep that up, everyone's going to know exactly what we've been doing."

The young man paused for maybe half a heartbeat, then declared, "Good," and latched onto the side of his neck.

Roy had to laugh. He never minded being marked, but he hadn't pegged Ed as the "claiming" type. He had a feeling he was in for a lot of such surprises. "Seriously, though, these books are not—" his breath hitched as his neck was nipped, "—not comfortable. Wait, aren't they your father's?"

Ed paused, then groaned. "Fuck. Yeah." He pushed himself up. "I don't give much of a shit for the old bastard, but Al would be upset."

Which reminded Roy—just where _were_ the Elric parents?

Another time. He let Ed pull him up, then caught the smaller body against his for another kiss.

Ed's hands slid back and squeezed his ass. "So . . ." he mused, grinning up at the taller man, " _how_ receptive, did you say?"

"Why don't you try me and see?" Roy purred back.

"Your words, Mustang. Don't try to back out now."

"I'd rather back _in_."

"Ha! You would, you man-whore." Ed gave him another squeeze, then stepped back and started to head out of the room.

He whipped back around, face suddenly serious, and jabbed a finger into Roy's chest. "Just so we're clear—I don't do one-night stands. I don't do one- _week_ stands. Get me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good." Ed grabbed his shirt, and hauled him out of the room.

Once they got to the bedroom, they started in on a little . . . _negotiating_ , which Roy finally ended by tacking the smaller man and dropping them both the mattress. In an instant, Ed took the upper hand, and Roy was pinned under East City U's youngest (and smallest) wrestling champion. There was something maniacal about his grin, and Roy started a desperate bid for freedom, only to have all his efforts thwarted. Ed didn't just immobilize him—he manhandled him and managed to strip him all at once. In no time, Roy found himself flat on his stomach, stark naked, with a cackling imp sprawled across his back. "Well, that was . . . interesting," he grunted.

"No backing out," the imp taunted, nipping the back of his neck and rubbing against his ass.

Back out? Roy didn't think he'd ever been more turned on. All the same. . . . "This—hardly seems fair."

"Mm?" Ed's mouth was currently occupied with Roy's shoulder.

He reached back and snagged a pantleg.

"Mm."

The mouth retreated. There was some squirming and shuffling, and then skin—glorious, hot skin—and cool metal slid against his back. Ed lay down along his back, running mismatched hands down his sides and grinding against him. "How's that?"

"Much better," Roy groaned, torn between pressing back and humping the bed.

"I need to grab something." Ed kissed his shoulder and then slithered off the bed. "Don't move."

Despite the admonition, he twisted around enough to watch, propping his chin on his arm. As enticing as he was clothed, Ed was positively glorious naked, all lean muscle and gleaming metal.

Ed shot him a glance as he rooted around in the nightstand. "It doesn't bother you? The automail."

"Should it?"

"I dunno . . . some people find it kinda. . . ." He drifted off, shrugging.

"Then they're idiots." Automail had its share of controversy and Roy knew that some people got squeamish about it, but he was not one of them.

Ed snorted, and Roy wondered who he'd just called an idiot, but that thought and all others fled as the young man crawled onto the bed and advanced toward him, a predatory gleam in his wolfish eyes.

"So then if I do _this_ ," cool metal ran up the back of his thigh and slipped down between his legs, and Roy shivered, "you're not bothered?"

"Not the word I would use, no," he confirmed, his voice strained. He nudged his thighs apart, trying to encourage the hand.

Ed laughed, and obligingly stroked the inside of his thigh, lingering on the delicate skin near the top. "God, you really are shameless."

"And I've got no shame in admitting it." He smirked, and reached around to caressed the teen's flesh ankle. "I like to feel good. Where's the shame in that?"

Without moving either his leg or his hand, Ed leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Roy had to marvel at his flexibility.

"Depends on what you're willing to do for it," the young man said against his mouth.

"Mmm." _That_ was a discussion for another time.

Ed straightened, and uncapped a battered metal tube. "Though I woulda thought I'd have to fight you for this part."

"You just showed that you could kick my ass without trying."

"Well, _yeah_ , but that's not what I meant."

He chuckled, rubbing his thumb along the top of Ed's foot. "You mean, you're surprised I'm willing to bottom? Why would I want to cut myself off from half the experience?" He didn't bottom for just anyone, but neither did he have any hangups about it. And the thought of _Ed_ inside of him—that made him tingle in all the right places.

Ed barked out a laugh, and smacked him in the face with a pillow. "You really are a hedonist."

"I do like to feel good." Roy tucked the pillow under his hips, humming a bit at the friction it gave his groin. "I hope you're not attached to this pillow."

"Eh, it's old." Ed settled himself between his knees. "Tell you what; I'll designate it yours."

"How charming."

Ed laughed again and slapped his ass. "You deserve it after the way you've been acting all term."

Roy hmphed, folding his arms under his chin.

It was clear Ed was not new to this, but there as nothing practiced or rehearsed about his movements. He seemed to have a genuine regard for his partner's comfort, and took great care in ensuring it. It wasn't often that Roy had a lover who was so sincere. Though, after a while he was ready to gnaw through the bed with impatience.

"Ed . . . some time this _year_. . . ." He wasn't above whining.

"Hmm?" Ed lazily stroked his prostate, then resumed the gentle stretching. Roy groaned and tried to keep from humping the pillow.

Finally, finally, Ed withdrew his fingers and positioned himself, his hands braced on either side of his waist. Then with a long, glorious thrust, he eased himself inside.

"Like that?" He was trying to sound casual, but his voice came out strained, and he was tense with the effort to stay still.

"You have no idea," Roy moaned. He pressed back against the smaller body, reveling in the feel of skin and metal. This was _his_ , finally. All his.

At last Ed started to move. He made shallow thrusts at first, shifting his angle until the other man cried out beneath him.

Ed settled down against his back, rubbing his sides and nuzzling his shoulder blades. Roy pressed up against him and moaned his encouragement. "Your ass is _mine_ , Roy Mustang," he murmured, punctuating his words with long, steady thrusts. "Mine. I don't plan to share."

"Got it." Something about the possessiveness shot through his gut and went straight to his groin.

He alternated between meeting Ed's thrusts and grinding against the pillow. The soft fabric wasn't the best stimulation, but the warm and cool knees pressed snug against his thighs, the lean, muscled form draped across his back, the loose hair tickling his skin, and the stroking against his prostate, all went a long way to making up for it.

Their rhythm hiccuped briefly as Ed coaxed his hips up, far enough to slip a hand between him and the pillow. Roy thrust against the offered palm, moaning when the fingers curled around him. The young man quickly reestablished a rhythm of thrust and stroke, thrust and stroke.

With a jolt, Roy realized that he'd lost any control he may have had in this encounter. He'd set out to seduce this young man, and had instead ended up completely won over himself. Ed had him in the palm of his hand, both literally and figuratively.

At that thought he came, hard.

* * *

It was edging into evening, but Roy couldn't muster up the motivation to move. Not when there was a warm body pressed up against him and a metal leg hooked over his hip. He stretched, savoring the little twinges in certain areas, and went back to threading his fingers through soft hair. He still wasn't quite sure what to think about the way things had played out, and he had no idea what this meant for the long run, but for the moment, he was content, and satisfied in a way he hadn't been in a long time.

"Just for the record?" Ed muttered lazily. "I still think you're a bastard and a player."

"Well, I can hardly fault you for calling it like it is," he said with a theatrical sigh.

"Still pissed at the way you've been teasing me all term."

"I could hardly have done anything while you were still underage. I wouldn't look good in a prison jumpsuit."

Ed laughed, nuzzling his chest. "Nah, I think you'd look hot. Hot enough to be the bitch for the whole cell block, that is."

Roy opened his mouth to retort—why stop at one cell block?—but the muffled sound of a familiar jingle made him pause.

"Your pants are ringing." Ed helpfully pointed to where he'd thrown the garment earlier.

Grumbling, Roy scooted down and reached over the side of the bed, and fished the phone out of his pocket, tucking an arm under his chin to consider the number. He pressed the off button.

"Who was it?"

"Jiminy Cricket." He dropped the phone back to his clothes and rolled onto his back.

Ed laughed, crawling over to straddle his hips. "Seriously? You have one of those?"

"Well, he likes to think he is." He rested his hands on the young man's thighs. "He's known me long enough to know all the blackmail, anyway."

"You know, in the original story, the puppet killed the cricket."

"Really? Hmm . . . tempting." Roy fingered the join between metal and flesh. It was a mystery to him why the brothers had artificial limbs, but he let it go. Now was not the time to ask. "Your family's not going to walk in on us, are they?"

"Nah. Granny's out on a call, Al's out until late, and Winry won't think to leave the shop until at least midnight. What about you? Anywhere you need to be?"

"Nope." His roommates never expected him home before dawn on the weekends anyway.

"Good." Ed smirked, and then very deliberately _rubbed_. "Because I'm ready for round two. What d'you say?"

Roy gripped his thighs, arching against him. "You don't need to convince _me_."


End file.
